


The Blood of Lambs

by orphan_account



Category: Fake News RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Gen, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:03:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Essentially, Jon Stewart is a man of peace. But there can be no peace without order and no order without someone with the power to enforce it.  And who better to hold power than a man like him? Than a man of peace?</p><p>pseudo-Mafia AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blood of Lambs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sylphium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylphium/gifts).



Essentially, Jon Stewart is a man of peace. But there can be no peace without order and no order without someone with the power to enforce it. And who better to hold power than a man like him? Than a man of peace? 

The police dance for the Mayor like puppets on a string. The Mayor himself was bought and paid for years ago by the human traffickers, that great scum of the city. The courts, with their talk of justice, choke with gluttons and bureaucrats and lawyers ready to sink their jagged teeth into whichever crooked deal is served them first.

Real justice, Jon knows, is the kind that comes swiftly, at the end of his gun. 

At least, this is how he justifies it to himself. 

\--

This city is choking on its own sin. 

Stephen presses the bead of the rosary, worries it between his finger and thumb until it bites. 

Another man died today, for the good of the city, one of the cockroaches that flood the streets with poison in the form of their tainted drugs. The pundits howl that the explosion took out twelve civilians, five of them children, that this was an act of terror, that the person responsible is a monster. Stephen knows better. This is war, and if a few of the angels fall in the exorcism of the devils, God will understand. 

When he enters the church for confession, he crosses himself with the Holy Water, washes the blood from his hands. 

Stephen Colbert is a man of faith. With cleansing fire and the blood of lambs, he will see this city redeemed. 

 

\--

The day Stephen Colbert dies, Jon is waiting across the church in his car. He wants to see it done. 

The other man is halfway down the steps when the shot rings out, a single loud crack, and Colbert goes down. 

No one comes out into the street to check on the sound. Jon waits for a minute, then three, and finally opens the door to step out onto the concrete. He shuts it to silence his driver’s protests and carefully walks over to Colbert’s fallen body.

There are no answering shots. Jon stops a few steps away from Stephen, avoiding the pooling mass of blood around the man’s shoulders. It ends up on his shoes anyway, and he lets out a small grunt. That seems to be enough noise to alert Stephen to his presence.

"I knew it was you," he chokes. He tries to lift a hand to press against his chest when he begins to cough, but it lands back on the street. Jon tries not to flinch as the pool of blood ripples.

He realizes that in a few minutes, there will be no more Stephen. No more battles. No more checking the alley outside his apartment building for someone smoking and reading a Bible. He shuffles, steps half an inch back, and looks around. The sunlight is glaring off the gilded handles on the doors of the church.

"So," he murmurs. "Any last requests?"

Stephen presses his lips together. His nostrils flare while he struggles to get his breathing under control. His fingers flex and relax against the concrete, as though he is struggling for purchase in the land of the living. 

"You c-c--" He inhales sharply and lets out his breath as a bark. "You could give me my last rites."

A long silence stretches between them, and Stephen lets out a single sob. “Please.” 

Jon looks at the gleaming church doors and back down at the dying man. "I don't know if you noticed," he says, slowly, "but I'm Jewish."

“This is an emergency,” Stephen laughs, voice weak. “I think God will understand.”

After it’s done, Jon crosses the street again, climbs into the back of his car. The city passes him by out the window, grey shape blending into grey shape in the cold. 

The inside of the car is warm, and Jon thinks he should feel joy or satisfaction or relief, but it seems as though he can no longer feel anything at all.

\--

It does not snow on the day of Stephen’s funeral. The sky is gray, threatening, but it does not snow. Jon’s teeth ache in the bitter wind. 

Across the street from the plot, Jon watches as Stephen’s coffin is lowered into the dirt, a small dark shape swallowed by the frozen earth. 

He gets into the back of his car and gives the order to drive.


End file.
